I Can't See Without Your Light
by plumbobjo
Summary: Updated 21.11.12: Life-altering events are good for one thing, at least: revealing what's really important. A series of snapshots taken in the months after Ste's disaster of a wedding day as he and Brendan both navigate loss, difficult decisions and one huge leap of faith. Stendan.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: I whipped this up really quickly in a couple of hours after obsessing over the wedding spoilers to the point of madness. I don't _love_ it but it wouldn't leave me alone until it got out of my brain.

Warnings: Just spoilers for upcoming episodes. Doug is in this, there is some slight relationship stuff and also a breakup. I actually like Doug so there's no bashing here. It is, first and foremost, a Stendan fic. It's also pretty long, around 5000 words, but it flows in a way that I didn't want to split it up.

Title from the song Breathe by Superchick.

* * *

_seven days  
_

He's enveloped in a thick white fog. His body aches all over, sore and throbbing like one huge bruise. His head is pounding, mouth dry, limbs heavy and stiff. There's something on his face, tickling his nose and he sniffs and wrinkles his face to try and dislodge it.

_Leah._

He can't focus, can't pull himself out of the dense blankness. There's a screaming voice in his head, long, plaited gold hair and a white dress.

_Fire, shouting, panic, pain. The crunch of bones. The drag of skin against concrete._

_Leah!_

He opens his eyes to harsh white lights, hears a broken voice cry out and it might be his own. He moves his hands, slow and lethargic like they're dragging through sludge, up to his face and there's the painful tug of something stuck in his arm.

"Steven - "

A familiar voice, familiar figure looming over him and pinning him down.

"Steven, calm down - "

He struggles against it, one word on his lips, a continuous litany of his daughter's name spilling from his sore throat.

"She's fine, she's fine, Leah's absolutely fine, the bus didn't hit her, she's okay, Douglas and everyone else, they're okay - "

The bus.

"It hit _you_, you're in the hospital."

He hyperventilates, chest heaving painfully, choking on hitching sobs that wrack his whole body and seize his muscles. Brendan, _Brendan, oh God Brendan, _stands over him, hands stroking over his bare arms, muttering soothing words until Ste can control his limbs enough to reach out and grip the front of his shirt.

"Wh – what 'appened?" he strains out, high and wet and crackling.

"A minibus crashed into the wedding venue," Brendan tells him softly and he's reaching out for something, a plastic button hanging next to his bed. "There's a few people hurt, a few dead teenagers I think, but nothin' for you to worry about."

"Wha - "

He tries to think back but it's all a blur. There's a ring on his finger that tells him he's a married man and only the vaguest memory of an aisle and Doug's smiling face to back it up. Suddenly the room's filled with activity, doctors and nurses bustling in with stethoscopes and blood pressure cuffs and Ste feels Brendan start to slip away. He flings his arm out after him over the side of the bed and grabs hold of his wrist, clings to him desperately.

"Please, please don't go - "

"Hey, hey, shhh, it's okay," he soothes, comes closer and kneels down on the floor so that they're eye level. He links their fingers together and leans his elbows on the bed, bows his head close so that Ste's whole vision is taken up by him. "I won't leave you, I promise."

Ste turns his face into him while the staff check him over and squeezes Brendan's fingers as tight as his weakened muscles will allow.

* * *

_nine days  
_

"Hey, how you feeling?" Brendan asks, high and sweet. Ste shifts in the bed, blinks his eyes a few times to clear the blurry sleep away and yawns. He shuffles to sit up, wincing at the ache in his body. His right hand feels stiff from being closed into a fist while he slept.

The sight makes Ste feel dizzy. It's the first time he's seen Brendan since he woke up two days ago and he stands in the doorway to the hospital room shiftily.

"Sore," he rasps out with a wry smile. "What's up wi' you? You look like you need a wee."

"I can't stay long."

"Why not? Come in."

Brendan sighs and shakes his head sadly. "Hospital's no place for a fight and your fella doesn't like me being here."

"That's because he doesn't like you full stop," Ste jokes tiredly, half-arsed attempt to lift the mood a bit. Brendan gives him a small quirk of his lips but doesn't come any closer. "Look, Doug's not even here. I've just been hit by a bloody bus, will you do as your told for once in your life?"

"Fine, but if he comes in here on the warpath - "

"You let me deal with, Doug. He's my husband, he has to honour and obey, now," he says mock-seriously.

"Yeah, I can totally see that happening," Brendan deadpans and it's worked because he strides in and sits down in the chair beside his bed.

"Anyway, I've summat that belongs to you." He feels suddenly hesitant. He's been mulling over how to broach this subject since his visitors had been turfed out the night he woke up and his Doctor had bent down to pick something up off the floor. He'd put it in Ste's hand and said, casual as you like, "you must have dropped this when you woke up, it's been in your hand since the day you got here," completely unaware that he'd just rocked Ste's world.

"What?" Brendan prompts him curiously.

He swallows thickly and raises his still tightly clenched right hand, opens out his fingers to let the silver chain spill out and hang between them, weighed down by the cross and ring. He watches Brendan stare at it, tries to take in and examine every nuance of his expression. His eyes are wide and his mouth parts slightly.

"It's lucky, you looked like you could use some," he says vaguely by way of explanation and his voice is hoarse. He flicks his eyes to Ste's and the moment is charged, thick with some emotion too huge to name. The sense of regret, of missing something huge and important that never happened. It feels like loss.

"Thanks, I think it worked." Ste smiles and it feels wobbly on his face like his muscles aren't strong enough to hold it in place. He nudges the chain towards Brendan and he curls his fingers around it, drags his fingertips down to the cross and grips it between his thumb and forefinger. They both watch as he touches it reverently, swipes his thumb across the band delicately.

"When you were first brought in – they said that you might not - "

"It's okay, I'm fine now - "

"It's warm," he interrupts quickly. Swallows and exhales a shaky breath.

"I've had in my hand a while," Ste explains. Fucking understatement but it's better than telling Brendan he hasn't put the thing down for two days.

Brendan finally takes it, spreads the chain with his fingers and puts it back around his neck. He picks up the cross and brings it up to press against his lips briefly before tucking it underneath his jumper. Ste feels the absence of it like a physical thing, like he's just handed over some piece of himself that he wasn't even aware was there until it was gone.

His hand feels empty and Ste's pretty sure that if he looked there'd be a cross-shaped dint embedded permanently in his palm.

* * *

_twelve days  
_

"The DNA test results show that Andy -

A tense, agonising silence.

" - is _not_ the biological father."

"Awww, too bad for Andy," Ste says. "It'll be that Phil's, you watch."

"I'm riveted, honestly."

Ste kicks Brendan's foot, doesn't have to move far since it's right there on the bed next to his own. Brendan's lounging in the chair beside him, legs stretched up and crossed at the ankle on his hospital bed like he owns the bloody place. He bats at Ste with the puzzle book he's holding.

"Here you go Jeremy Kyle, got a cooking one for you," he says, clearing his throat. "Nine letters, practice of cutting up meat into chunks and stewing in gravy. Begins with an F, got an S in the middle."

"Fricassee. Don't even ask me how you spell it, though."

"Got it," he says briskly, scribbles in the book with the Biro that Ste had nicked for him out of one of the doctor's pockets when he'd come in to check his blood pressure. "Looks like your brain might not be that damaged after all."

"Oi, be nice. I'm injured, me."

"You're fine, stop whingin'."

"You're sympathy for me getting' hit by a bus is really lovely, Brendan. You don't know how much I appreciate it," he deadpans.

"You should, not many people get the Brendan Brady sympathy treatment," he says all sincere and serious and Ste scoffs.

"I don't think _I'm_ getting' it if I'm perfectly honest."

"What d'you want, a hug?"

"Yes, actually." Ste laughs and then he catches himself, realises what he just said. Brendan peers over the top of the book at him, expression soft and thoughtful and Ste actually thinks, for a mad second, that he's going to get what he asked for and his whole body flutters and tingles. Brendan's face breaks into an embarrassed little smile that he can't seem to help and he dips his head to hide behind his puzzles.

"Shut up."

* * *

_fourteen days_

"I hope you've been behavin' for Auntie Chez?"

Leah pulls a coy face at him, squinty-eyed little grin and nose all wrinkled up. "Yes, Daddy."

"She's been great, right little helper aren't you?" Cheryl says sweetly and he drags Leah into his arms, painfully, because she's leaning over his inured body but it doesn't matter, he just wants to have her close. She nearly died and he doesn't even remember it. The thought that he would have forgotten the last moments he ever spent with his baby girl plays on his mind constantly.

"I dusted," she muffles into his neck and he gives Cheryl a look.

"She _wanted_ to dust." She puts her hands up innocently when he rolls his eyes. "No child slave-labour goin' on in our house, promise."

"Yeah, yeah," he laughs, lets Leah go and she perches next to him on the bed, legs swinging over the sides. He keeps one hand around her small wrist, can't stop rubbing his thumb over her pulse.

"Uncle Brendan gave me a pound for it and we went and bought chocolate," she tells him and his whole chest flutters so suddenly that he feels like he wants to giggle.

"Uncle Brendan, eh?" He peers across at Cheryl where she's sat in the chair and she has a soft little smile on her face.

"She can't get enough of him, it's all 'when is Uncle Brendan coming home from work' and 'can we go and see Uncle Brendan today'. Never mind Auntie Cheryl doing all the laundry and cooking."

"I don't really want my child eatin' Brendan's cooking anyway, if I'm honest," he jokes but his insides are still doing some kind of pleasant, flip-flopping jig that makes his fingers twitchy.

He sits and listens to his daughter list all the hilarious things Brendan does and tries to get a fucking grip on himself.

* * *

_sixteen days  
_

Doug hasn't been gone for even two minutes - Ste had begged him to get back to the deli, they still have a business to run - when Brendan appears in the doorway.

"Good news," Ste says enthusiastically before he can even get half-way into the room. "Doctor says I should be out of here day after tomorrow!"

"That's great news, Steven."

"In't it? God, I can't wait to sleep in my own bed." He claps his hands together like a seal and does a little sitting-down happy-jig. "They said I'll be on crutches for a bit, though, so I might need some advice on that one."

"I'm sure you'll get by."

Ste catches his subdued tone and gives him a proper once over. He'd been buzzing so much he hadn't noticed that Brendan looks flat all over, washed out like all the colour's been drained out of him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, course. Why wouldn't I be?" He gives Ste a forced smile. It's fake and ugly and it makes him feel icy cold all over.

"Summat 'appened?" he asks, all sorts of horrible scenarios going through his head. Another crash related death, something happening to Leah or Cheryl, some other psycho baying for Brendan's blood.

"I'm tired, that's all. What with all the village in shock, my clubs been pretty packed out for the last few nights," he says, casual enough to make it sound true. Ste's not so sure. "Hey, whatcha worrying about me for? You have enough on your plate."

"Alright then, keep your little secrets." He doesn't mean for the words to come out sounding so moody but he can't help it.

"Steven, can we just - " Brendan breaks off and sighs, looks down at the floor like he's frustrated. "Can we not argue? Please? Not today."

"Okay," Ste says softly, a little confused. He can't shake the feeling that Brendan's _sad_. It's an emotion he's rarely used to seeing on him and he hides it so well but today Ste can sense it like it's rolling off him in waves.

"Good, budge up."

"You're not supposed to put your feet up on the beds y'know."

"You wanna swap places so you can try gettin' comfortable in one of these God-awful chairs?"

* * *

_seventeen days  
_

_I can't believe you've done this! Are you 'appy now? Our marriage is over before it's even begun!_

_Ste - _

_Ste!_

He wakes abruptly and with a gasp that hurts his throat. It makes him cough and the pain of it tears through him, makes him tuck his legs up close until he's curled in a ball on his side gripping the pillow in front of his face tightly. There's a shadow in front of his closed eyes, the sound of dragging metal and he squints ever so slightly to see.

Brendan stares back at him, one hand stretched out above the bedside table, guiltiest expression on his face, like Ste's just caught him in the act.

"Whatreyoudoin?" he mumbles blearily, still shaking off his nightmare. He can't grasp the details of it, they trickle through his fingers like water. He dreams about fire and screaming, his baby girl in a broken heap by the road.

A flash of silver catches his eye and he looks at Brendan's frozen hand. His cross is spilling from between his fingers, half pooled on the table. The digital clock next to it tells him it's late, far too late for visiting hours. Brendan looks torn, completely and utterly, like he's fighting some kind of massive, internal battle. One side must win because he sighs heavily and perches on Ste's bed and Ste rolls half onto his back to peer up at him.

"I didn't wanna wake you," he says softly, fiddling with the chain between his hands. "I'm no good at goodbyes, you know that."

"Goodbyes?" Ste asks, suddenly wide awake and cold all over.

"Yeah, I'm getting out of here for a while. Gonna go back home, back to Dublin."

"For how long?"

"I don't know - "

"What d'you mean you _don't know_? Are you even comin' back?"

Brendan's silence tells him everything he needs to know and he can't breathe, doesn't even know what to think or say or do. He shouldn't care, he can't care - he isn't allowed.

"Why?" Ste asks hoarsely, voice high and soft and childlike.

Brendan smiles at him sadly. "I need to move on. Being around here – around _you_ – it's not good for either of us. I have to let you live your life and I need to go out and live mine."

Ste thinks there might be tears in his eyes and he's too afraid to blink. His breath is hitching, chest rising and falling quickly, his body reacting completely against his will, its response to Brendan's words physically out of his control before his mind has even processed the emotions he's feeling.

"But – but what will I do without you?" he asks in a small voice and it's the most fucking humiliating thing he has ever said in his entire life, the words just tumbling out of him without any input from his brain whatsoever. He's in complete shock. Can't imagine his world without Brendan in it, it's _unthinkable_.

"Hey, you'll be fine," Brendan says wetly, eyes shining and he puts a hand on Ste's shoulder. "You've got everything you ever wanted now, successful business, man who loves you enough to put a ring on your finger."

He nods numbly against the pillows, can't trust himself to speak and doesn't know what he'd say if he could. Beg Brendan to stay? For what?

"Here." Brendan presses something into his hand and closes his fingers around Ste's fist tightly. "Want you to have this."

The feeling of it is so familiar against his palm that he knows instantly what it is without looking.

"No, I can't - " he stutters, pushes their joint hands away from him and towards Brendan. " - I can't take it, it means too much to you."

Brendan shakes his head and pushes back against him firmly, presses both their hands against Ste's hammering heart. "You mean more."

The words break him in two, cleave him straight down the middle and hollow out his insides until he's opened up and raw, never felt more vulnerable in his entire life.

"Brendan - "

"Don't, don't ask me to stay, please," he pleads, leans over Ste's body and presses their foreheads together. Ste raises his free hand to grip the back of Brendan's neck with shaking fingers, turns his head up so that his nose bumps against Brendan's gently. They breathe in tandem into the inch of space between them and then Brendan closes the gap. He kisses Ste softly, lips clinging, once, twice, then again. When he pulls back Ste feels like he's been completely wrung out. There is literally nothing left that he can do.

"I'll miss you," he mumbles and it's pointless but he needs to get it out anyway.

"Well, don't." Brendan says simply and smiles at him, sweet and sad. He stands up and heads for the door and Ste struggles to sit up so he can see every retreating step. "Take care of yourself, Steven."

"Only if you promise you will, too."

Brendan doesn't say anything else, no more parting words. He doesn't even pause or turn around. Ste watches his back as he swings open the hospital room doors and disappears.

He sits totally still letting the aftershock crash over him like a wave, grief like he's never known growing through him until he's filled to bursting with it and it hurts so damn much, pressing against his skin, trying to claw its way out and manifest itself into some awful outburst. He squeezes his fingers around the cross in his hand until it digs painfully into his palm. His wedding ring glints up at him, pretty and perfect and safe, _everything you ever wanted._

Except the one thing he's _always_ wanted but that thing just walked out of his life forever.

* * *

_twenty-three days  
_

For the past four nights he's woken up in a cold sweat, Doug stirring next to him, never waking, and filled with so much adrenaline he's had to get up and hobble around the flat to shake it off.

His nightmare's aren't filled with fire and dead bodies anymore, they're more abstract, more frightening; the feeling of betrayal, the grief of loosing someone so loved, a recurring moment where Ste screams at Doug for all he's worth until they're both red-faced and tearful, the building up of pressure until he explodes like a volcano.

He's starting to recognise that they're memories, the ones he lost in the crash. He wants to know why he was having a slanging match with his newly-wed husband on their wedding day, wants to know where this sense of betrayal came from. Most of all he wants to know why he feels so dead inside, why he can't muster any emotion except numb emptiness.

He grabs a crutch from beside the bed, doesn't really need it much anymore except for when he's just woken up and his body's still stiff, grabs his phone and heads into the kitchen. For the past four nights he's done this, too. Stood in the dark, leaning against his kitchen counter and staring at the softly glowing light of Brendan's name in his phone. He could text, but he doesn't know what he'd say.

The other day he'd been sat in his doctor's office and she'd had a saucy calender pinned to her cork board, badly hidden underneath timetables and leaflets. Mr November had had a very fetching moustache and he'd stared at it for about half a minute with the weirdest urge to take a photo on his phone and send it to Brendan while the doctor had repeatedly asked him about six times if where she was pressing her hand still hurt.

He feels, helplessly, like he's losing his mind.

There's the scrape of a door across carpet and the shuffle of someone in the hallway. The kitchen light flashes on and he has to squint against the pain.

"Hey, what're you doing?"

"Just needed a drink of water."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, go back to bed. I'll be in in a sec," He leans over to kiss Doug's cheek but he moves away. "What?"

"You're not fine, you haven't been since you got out of the hospital," Doug says firmly, straight to the point.

"I did get hit by a bus, Doug."

"No, you were fine _in_ the hospital," he sighs, looks at Ste like he can see right through him. "It's Brendan isn't it?"

His first instinct is to say no, to deny like he always does when Doug brings up Brendan because most of the time it _isn't, _Brendan i_sn't _the problem, _they_ are and Brendan's always been a scapegoat for their unresolvable issues, but he can't – not this time. It's time for some honesty because he's not sure they can go on like this and he's too tired to keep trying.

Ste _loves_ Doug, he does, and he wants some kind of relationship to salvage at the end of all this, just not the kind of one with romance and heartbreak, not the kind of one where they become bitter and resentful as silence grows between them like an out of control weed that they eventually stop even trying to cut through.

"Yeah, it is Brendan, a bit," Ste mutters softly and it's one of the hardest things he's ever had to admit to. Doug looks visibly angry for a moment before he seems to smother it down. "It's more than that, though. I mean - what are we doin', Doug?

"What?" he asks, confused suddenly, clearly wasn't expecting that.

"You and me? What are we doing? Can you remember the last time we were happy?"

"Wha – are you serious?" He throws out his arms desperately. "If you remember, two weeks ago it was our wedding day!"

"Well that's just it, Doug. I don't remember, do I?" Doug's face drops, dawning comprehension appearing. "What happened? What was I doin' outside when that bus came down the road?"

Doug sags, completely, like all the wind has vanished from his sails. He looks utterly defeated and it breaks Ste's heart that they've come to this.

The next few hours are some of the most difficult of his entire life and when they're finished he clings to Doug one last time, fingers buried in his t-shirt to hold them both up because they're completely dried out from crying, wrung out from talking, shouting, carving out their emotions and putting them on display until Ste feels as transparent as clingfilm.

It's all over and the weight on his shoulders feels just that little bit lighter.

* * *

_thirty-five days  
_

Adjusting to life without Doug is hard.

His flat feels too empty, the deli too full with forced, overcompensating politeness. They hedge around each other with jokes that fall flat and conversation that runs dry. It's Doug that puts forward the idea of taking some time off, giving them some space so they can both get some much needed closure, and he books a flight to New York. Ste sees him off at the airport, feels like it's the least he can do after everything. They should have been boarding a plane together right now, jetting off somewhere on their honeymoon. It smarts, but so does a lot of things.

Cheryl wrangles him round to her flat nearly every night when he's finished work, comes and fetches him herself just as he locking up and trying to slink off quietly. It's overbearing and exhausting but he appreciates it all the same. It's somewhere he feels safe and more often than not he crashes out on her sofa, nose buried in the cushions that smell so comforting and familiar.

His spine hates him, viciously, but the rest of him slowly recovers.

* * *

_fourty days_

One day she spots it.

"Is that - "

She doesn't finish the sentence and he frowns at her. They're in the kitchen, Ste perched up on the counter top, kicking his legs into the cupboards to irritate her until she smacks him. She's beside him making coffee, or she was. Now she's pointing a spoon at him accusingly and gawping like a fish.

"What? Is what, what?" Ste asks.

She pokes the spoon into his open collar and hooks it around the chain, drags it out slowly as his heart sinks slowly in realisation. He'd completely forgotten he was wearing it, it fits him so much like a second skin now, like part of his own body. It feels lucky.

"It is, it's Brendan's – but he never takes it off - "

She's wide-eyed and gob-smacked and it would be funny if he wasn't so embarrassed at being caught out being so bloody sad and soppy.

"He gave it to me in the hospital, just before he left," he mutters softly, head bowed because he can't look at her. Cheryl stays silent for a worrying amount of time, cross sitting in the dip of the spoon like she's about to try and feed it to him.

"Okay, putting aside the fact that I'm _very_ offended that he didn't give it to _me,_" she says eventually, half-serious he's sure, "what does it mean?"

"Goodbye, I think."

"You absolutely sure about that?" she asks, looking at him like he's crazy.

"He said he wanted to move on, Chez, and that I should too. He deserves a chance at a new life."

"Okay, I get that," she says softly, eyes twinkling. "But, Ste – he _never takes it off_. Not for _anyone_."

The words sit there between them for a whole minute before they sink in and Cheryl lets the cross fall back against him. It sits against his chest comfortably, this small thing that effortlessly fills a hollow space in him. That night in the hospital, Ste had thought that Brendan was giving up some huge part of his old life, freeing himself up to find a new identity. He was wrong. Brendan had carved out a bit of his heart and handed Ste a piece to keep and it had taken up residence inside him, buried roots and flourished. He'll never be able to move on while it's in there. Brendan can never move on while Ste still owns so much of him.

Maybe that's the whole point?

One of Ste's hands curls protectively around the cross and he looks at Cheryl, feels his eyes go wide. She's smiling at him expectantly and he feels all the gears click into place. He hops down off the counter, filled with jittering adrenaline and reckless giddiness. "I need you to write me down the address of Brendan's Dublin flat - "

"Yeah, I'm on it. You go and pack, hurry up, I'll drive you - "

* * *

_fourty and a half days  
_

Cheryl kisses him good bye at check-in, makes him promise he'll phone and tell her how things went as soon as he knows himself. He gets a ticket with no fuss, next flight two hours away. His buzz from the kitchen hasn't faded in the slightest, anticipation making him breathless and excited. He doesn't rehearse what he's going to say, doesn't need to. He's confident that it'll come to him as soon as he sees Brendan's face. For the first time in his life he doesn't feel one trace of doubt.

"Calling all passengers for flight FR552, Manchester to Dublin International Airport, to Gate 12 - "

He gets up, pulls his bag up onto his shoulder and heads for the gate. The attendant takes his passport and boarding pass to study them closely.

With his momentarily free hands Ste pulls the chain out from underneath his jumper, grips the cross tightly between his fingers and brings it to his lips.

* * *

_fourty and three quarter days  
_

He raps on the door hard with his knuckles and holds his breath. It swings open and he's finally here, they're both here. Brendan, cosy and casual, hair messy, eyes bright-blue and dark-rimmed, mouth parted in surprise - he's never looked more beautiful.

"What - "

"I 'ave something that belongs to you - you left it behind."

There's a lingering silence and Ste watches Brendan's expression turn to soft understanding.

"Well - I won't make that mistake again."


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: A few people asked for an epilogue to this so I of course ended up going a bit mad and writing a whole other 6500 word chapter from Brendan's POV. The hardest part of this, honestly, was doing the maths so that the dates matched up. I had the calculator out and everything and I'm still pretty sure I've _still_ gotten it wrong so please forgive me!

There's angst at the start and a total overload of sop and self-indulgence to finish with. Enjoy!

A series of snapshots taken in the thirty-one days after Brendan leaves Ste's bedside.

* * *

_zero days_

"Take care of yourself, Steven."

"Only if you promise you will, too."

He doesn't turn around or offer a reply; he can't bear for his last words to Steven to be another broken promise. The door shuts behind him with shocking finality and right there in the hallway he doubles over, unable to breathe, the soft press of Steven's lips still lingering against his own. He's half the man he was before he went into that room, feels all broken up and disconnected; the pieces of himself don't fit together anymore, like a smashed vase glued hastily back together all wrong, holes where there's bits missing.

The compulsion to go back in there and throw himself into Steven is almost too strong for him to resist but he pushes through it, leans his head against the hospital-green wall and lets the cold concrete against his skin calm him down.

This was _his_ choice and he can take comfort in that. He can feel proud that he's finally done the one thing that he'd never been able to in the past, the change in him finally complete. It started with Steven and it only seems fit that it should end with him too.

This is his redemption and any suffering he endures as a result is a penance he'll be glad to pay.

* * *

_four days_

He's drunk. He's _been_ drunk for the past four days in fact. If his life were a painting it would be melting clocks and long-legged elephants, but that's just him being morose and prone to metaphors. His life is actually just _this, _a blank slate made slightly less drab by copious whiskey.

Hyper-awareness has settled into his skin and he wants so desperately to numb it. He's all sensitive and raw, the slightest thing setting him off into meltdown. He hears every sound of his empty flat, feels every emotion sharply like it's magnified a hundred times, silly things like spilling milk or losing the remote turn into epic tragedies that he could write whole fucking plays about.

His phone's been ringing non-stop since this morning and up until midday he'd resolutely _not_ checked to see who was calling, wanted to keep hold of that tiny sliver of hope that it might be who he really wants it to be just to get him through the morning before the reality came crashing down around him.

It's ringing now; Cheryl this time, Father Des the time before that, O2 the time before that. It makes little difference, they all want something from him and he's not up to giving anyone anything right now – there's not a lot he has left to give.

_Put this poor girl out of her misery._

He picks it up resentfully and gets as far as, "hello - " before he's getting his ear chewed off about voicemail and useless brothers and can't he pick up a damn phone just to let his sister know that he hasn't topped himself.

"Are you done?" he asks, eventually, when she seems to have run out of steam

"For now, yeah," she replies with a haughty sniff. "So, how's Dublin?"

"It's raining."

" - okay. How are you keeping?"

"I'm drunk."

"Jesus, Bren, you're worrying me to death over here. Have you at least seen the boys?"

"Not yet, they don't know I'm back yet," he says tiredly. "I just need a few more days to come round, that's all."

"Well don't go staggering down there drunk, they don't need to see that," she sighs, "but do go soon, I think it'll be really good for you to spend some time with them. It might bring you out of this, y'know - episode."

"Episode?" he scoffs, chokes on a bitter laugh. "Thanks, Chez, now I sound crazy."

"You said it, love," she jokes warmly and it eases some of the tension that's built up along his shoulders. He lets out a long breath, feels the ache in his chest loosen. She finally asks the dreaded question. "How are you _really_ doing?"

He leans his head back against the sofa he's sprawled out on. "How d'you think, sis?"

"Ste's out of the hospital," she offers up to him by way of reply, maybe she thinks it'll get him talking or something. "Watching him hobble about on crutches was - "

"Don't, please," he says awkwardly, can't bear to think Steven's name in his head at the moment let alone hear Cheryl going on. It's bad enough that the image of him is still burned bright into Brendan's brain, tears in his eyes, mouth parted in confusion, _what will I do without you? _"Anything but that."

"Umm, Tony and Cindy are gettin' a divorce. Wanna talk about that?"

He actually couldn't care less about Tony and Cindy but it's a safe subject and the prattle of Cheryl's voice going into gossip mode is enough to comfort him - for now.

* * *

_eight days_

He drives through the post-school traffic, fucking hates driving in Dublin but he's got the car with him so he may as well use it, and manages to survive unscathed but in a worse mood than when he set off. He pulls up outside Eileen's house, well, Eileen and fucking Michael's house, and slams the door extra hard when he gets out. The last thing on God's green Earth he wants to do right now is actually go in there but Eileen had made him promise he would and he's throwing all his weight behind his word these days.

He pulls his leather jacket around him against the cold December chill, fumbles unconsciously at his neck before he remembers there's nothing there and strides up the path, jabs at the doorbell with his finger and leans against the wall with his arms folded across his chest like they might protect him from Eileen's piercing gaze. He keeps an eye on the car, doesn't doubt that it'll end up keyed, stolen or worse around here if he leaves it long enough.

There's the rattle of keys and then he's standing face to face with his ex wife.

"Honey, I'm home," he drawls and she purses her lips at him in what he still recognises as a clear attempt not to smile.

"I think I had a husband that looked a bit like you, once. Dunno where he got to, though," she says with a raised eyebrow. "Come in, I'll put the kettle on."

"You don't have to do that, Eileen. I only came for the boys."

"It's not really up for debate," she quips and heads inside before he can protest some more giving him no choice but to follow her through the hall and into the kitchen. It's just like he imaged, busy and floral, bright colours and chintzy trinkets on every surface. Everything from the oven mitts to the plates have flowers on them. It's pure Eileen and it makes him smile.

She flips on the kettle and pulls out something he recognises instantly.

"I can't believe you still use that," he says, appalled and shaking his head in disbelief.

"It's got sentimental value," she says, stroking her fingers over the ceramic ears fondly. He'd hated that fucking teapot with a passion when they'd been married and he'd been sure that was the only reason she used it so incessantly. Apparently she'd just liked it.

"I still can't believe your Auntie Grace thought it was appropriate to buy a novelty cat tea set for a newly-wed couple."

"Well, she did love her cats."

"Yeah, all eleven of them."

"Cheryl says your not doin' so well," she says, blind-siding him with her abrupt subject change. Sneaky cow. Cows, actually, both of them, tag teaming him like this.

"Cheryl worries too much," he says smoothly.

"You don't look so good, though. Tired. Depressed, actually. It looks strange on you." She bustles about with cups and sugar and milk and he decides he's not going to tell her that he's staying in Dublin for the foreseeable future, it opens up too many avenues of questioning. He'll tell the boys, let them break the news.

"It's been a rough few months, nothing I can't handle."

"You don't, though, do you Bren? Who was it? Who's done this to you?" She hands him a steaming cup and watches him closely. He realises vaguely that she never asked how he wanted his tea. When he sips it he finds it's perfect - she always did remember the little things. Or maybe she still sees the same man she's always seen.

"What makes you think it was a who?"

"Because I've only ever seen you grieving once before and right now I feel like I've gone back sixteen years." He looks down at the counter top, memories too sharp all of a sudden. A tiny coffin, white ribbons, pink roses. "Is it a - " she stutters and hesitates, can't even say the word and he doesn't know whether he finds it funny or not.

"A bloke?" he offers and she nods uncomfortably. "Yeah. It doesn't matter, though. It's over."

"So that's why you're over here? Running away from your problems again?"

"Don't - " he snaps, stands up to full height and slams the cup down on the kitchen top. He catches himself and breathes to calm his sudden flare of anger. It burns out quick as a flash, gone as soon as it came. "I'm not the man you knew Eileen; that's _why_ I left."

She looks him up and down appraisingly for a moment. "So, what? The love of a good _man_ has finally changed you forever has it?"

He chuffs a laugh and sags back against the counter. "Just like in the movies."

"Guy doesn't get the girl at the end? Sounds like a bad movie to me," she scoffs.

"Most of those guys don't deserve the girl, Eileen," he says softly, weirdly okay with talking to her about this. He supposes once you've told a priest that you're in love with a man your ex-wife doesn't seem so daunting. "Me and Steven were never gonna get a happy ending."

* * *

_nine days_

The second he'd gotten hold of his boys, pulled them both, grumbling and moaning, into his arms and herded them into the car, he'd felt lighter. It had been the first time in months that he'd felt like he was looking at the one thing in his life he'd done _right._ They represent everything good in him and suddenly he doesn't feel like such a failure.

He'd taken them to his flat, hooked up Declan's X-Box to his TV and ordered them more food than he was sure they'd be capable of eating. He'd been wrong, of course, and it had been the most amazing reminder of the fact that they were _his_. He finds it's something he knows but doesn't always consciously remember, like a thing he takes for granted until he's faced with exactly what it means.

They'd gone to bed happy and full and Brendan hadn't been able to resist tucking Padraig in even though he'd protested and at one point actually kicked him.

_I'm not a baby._

_No, but I'm still your Da so you have to let me do soppy stuff like this even though you hate it._

_But Dad -_

_Hey, I don't make the rules._

He'd sat down on the sofa, crumb covered and pillows everywhere, and actually settled. Not once had he been tempted to grab the whiskey so he wakes up the next morning at a decent hour without a hangover and feeling pretty okay. There's a racket coming from the living room that he's only the slightest bit concerned about. Mostly it's nice, familiar and comforting.

He gets up and drags on something comfortable and when he opens his bedroom door he's assaulted by the radio turned up full blast and the smell of burnt toast.

"Do I even wanna know what's happenin' out here?" he asks with a yawn and he's greeted by Declan's guilty face and Padraig's half-chewed-food stuffed grin.

"I was makin' breakfast," his eldest tells him, stack of charred black bread piled up on the kitchen surface next to him while he pours cereal into a bowl. Brendan shakes his head, thinks he's going to need to have a word with Eileen about spoiling them because while he _knows_ that he's no masterchef, he could bloody well make toast at Declan's age. It's a strange mental image, him having a word with his boy's mother about parenting. He finds he likes it.

"Sit down," he sighs and Declan pulls a surly face at him but does as he's told. "Watch and learn."

He pulls out flour and eggs and pans and bowls.

"_You're_ gonna cook something?" Declan asks him sceptically.

"Damn right I'm gonna cook something _and _- " he stresses, waves a wooden spoon at the two of them, " - they're gonna be the best damn pancakes you ever had in your life."

"Can I have syrup on mine, Dad?" Padraig asks brightly and Brendan loves that he's still too young to try on that miserable cynicism that his eldest wears constantly like a second skin, like he's always expecting the worst. He wonders exactly how much he's to blame for it.

"You can have whatever you want, son."

"Come off it, you've never cooked us a meal in your life. Come on, who taught you?" Declan asks with a wry smirk and Brendan turns to properly look at him, at his all-knowing, cocky little face. Brendan narrows his eyes and says nothing, just lets him carry on because he suddenly wants to hear Declan's voice say the name he can't get out of his head. "It was Ste, wasn't it?"

He could laugh at the irony of his entire family suddenly being able to see through him in a matter of days when for years he'd hidden every real part of himself away so thoroughly that he'd almost been two completely separate people.

"Who's Ste?" Padraig asks and his heart suddenly sinks because he can already see Declan opening his mouth to speak. It's like his worlds stretched out into horrifying slow motion.

"Dad's ex."

"Ste?"

"Yeah, like Steven."

"Declan, shut up!" he finds himself shouting and they both jump.

"What? He _knows_ Dad," Declan tells him and Brendan looks at his youngest. His eyes flick between his brother and his father guiltily like he thinks he's in some way responsible for the sudden yelling.

"I know you're a gay, Dad," he says placatingly and Brendan's hands shake around the spoon he's holding. He'd known that Padraig knew, the kid's his father's son, he's not an idiot, and he doesn't know why he's reacting like this. Both of his sons look at him warily and he feels the doubt creep back in, cold and slimy like roiling, toxic sludge through his veins. He looks desperately at Declan for help because he doesn't know where to go from here but he realises how ridiculous that is, he's their _father _for fucks sake. He's meant to be guiding _them_ not the other way around.

He resists the urge to turn his back on them and just carry on cooking, to sweep past the awkwardness and responsibility like he usually does. Instead Brendan takes a deep breath and gathers his resolve. "Yeah, I am. Do you know what that means Padraig?"

"Yeah," he says with his face screwed up like it's a stupid question, of course he knows everything there is to know about everything.

"Okay, so you don't have any questions then?" he asks as levelly as he can and Christ his hands are shaking worse than ever, he feels like he's about to be sick. He watches Padraig go quiet and thoughtful and Declan catches his eye. He gives Brendan a small smile, _you're doing good._

"Are you gonna get a bloke to come and live with you like Mum has?" That's not exactly the question he was expecting and it's a fascinating insight into Padraig's head that he thinks of it as the same thing, Mum and Michael, Dad and -

"Not at the moment, no," Brendan tells him and he means it. He's got a long way to go yet and he's not sure he'll ever get there, it's a conversation for a completely different time. "It might happen, though. It doesn't mean me or your Ma love you any less, I hope you know that."

Padraig nods, wide-eyed and earnest and with no more questions. Brendan feels like the world's about to end around him. It has to, there's no way things are allowed to be that simple. He stands, completely still, gawping at the two of them, waiting for the other shoe to drop but it never happens.

"Actually, I have a question," Declan says, breaking the silence and drawing his attention. "Where are my pancakes?"

* * *

_eleven days_

He wakes up at the sound of his phone ringing on the bedside table. He flings out an arm and grabs it - Cheryl.

"What are you ringin' me so early for?" he snaps roughly.

"Babe, it's half past two in the afternoon."

He peers at his phone blearily, she's right. Jesus, where are his days going? He's starting to feel like a vampire.

"Oh, sorry, hello - "

"How are you doing?" she asks brightly and he takes a moment to consider the question. He feels balanced. Not good, not bad. Calm and just - okay. He's seen his boys almost every day for over a week and they've given him back his sense of equilibrium. He feels capable and needed and it makes it easier not to think about the things he doesn't have.

"I'm not bad, sis, yourself?" He shuffles himself up to lean against his headboard.

"Tired, I was up all night with - "

"With what?" he prompts when she falls silent.

"I dunno if I should even be telling you this," she says, tense and tight like she's ready to burst. Brendan knows he doesn't even have to prod her at all, Cheryl will blurt out whatever it is she's not supposed to saying in a matter of seconds whether he asks or not.

"Then don't."

"Ste and Doug broke up."

Jesus, _fuck, _he was _not_ expecting that.

"Bren?"

He can't even speak, he's reeling too much for words.

"Brendan!"

"Why?" he chokes out.

"Ste just said that it was a mistake and didn't go into _any_ detail, even after I plied him with vodka."

"So it's for good?"

"Yeah, they've been split up for days. He only told me yesterday and he seemed pretty sure."

He can't wrap his head around it. "Is he okay?"

"He's shaky, bit stressed out, I don't know, yeah, he seems to be handling it."

"Promise me you'll look after him, sis, I gotta go," he says in a rush of breath and hangs up the phone. He can't carry on a normal conversation right now, his voice is stuck somewhere in his chest, so he sits and stares blankly into space for a good five minutes trying to process what this information means. If he'd known -

No.

_Doug isn't the reason things are like this._

This doesn't change a damn thing. He didn't leave because Steven was married, he left to keep Steven safe.

There's a shrill beeping sound and he jumps so hard his back hits the headboard with a painful crack. His heart clenches tightly and he has to bring his phone up by sheer force of will to make himself look at it. It's Cheryl.

_don't go and do something stupid, please x_

He breathes out the air he was holding in, chest deflating until he flops down sideways into his mattress, completely boneless and drained like someone's unplugged him.

This doesn't change a damn thing.

* * *

_sixteen days_

He's exhausted but he doesn't stop running, muscles aching, head ringing, sweat sticking his t-shirt uncomfortably despite the sub-zero temperature. He's determined to tire himself out so thoroughly that he can't so much as _think_ anymore.

For the past five days he's felt physically assaulted by adrenaline, a constant state of directionless anticipation gnawing at him until he'd felt like he was losing his fucking mind. Alcohol hadn't dampened it this time, made it worse in fact. After getting drunk once he'd _just_ managed to catch himself with his finger on the 'call' button under Steven's name and flown into such a rage that he'd trashed half his living room up. For one terrifying moment he'd held his hand above a pile of smashed glass and wanted nothing more than to press his palm against every shard until he bled.

He's barely slept, doesn't know where his energy's coming from at all. It just rolls through him in agonising waves until he's pacing the floor and wringing his trembling hands together. He checks his phone and then leaves it alone for hours on end on silent before he checks it again in both hope and dread that time might have brought him something. It never does and it gets gradually easier to accept that Steven might have finally found some peace without him, without anybody.

So he runs, pounds the pavement hard in the hopes it might be enough to use up everything that he's got left so he can just get some fucking sleep.

* * *

_twenty days_

He sits in a dark corner of the pub, arrived early so that he could pick a spot and watch the room for Eoghan, wants to see him before he sees Brendan, and sips at his pint.

After five minutes he walks in and up to the bar and Brendan doesn't do a thing, just watches him while he orders a drink. He wasn't surprised to hear that Eoghan was in Dublin visiting friends or whatever it is he does here. He also wasn't surprised when Eoghan phoned him and goaded him into going for a drink. He still has bridges to mend and, whether he likes it or not and he _doesn't_, the man stood at the bar is still one of them.

Eoghan spots him on a sweep of the room and gives him a sharp nod in acknowledgement. When he gets his drink he comes over and sits down opposite and Brendan smells ozone and expensive aftershave.

"Well, this is a novelty," he quips with a smirk and a tip of his pint, "Brendan Brady, slumming it back in old Ireland."

"Needed a change of scenery."

"Your boy toy finally stop paying attention to you did he?"

Brendan smiles, won't let Eoghan wind him up, not today. "I'm sure Steven would be honoured to know that you're so concerned about him."

"He knows, I made sure to give him a few friendly words of advice about you before I left," Eoghan says breezily and Brendan presses his lips tightly together and pulls in a harsh breath through his nose.

"Really?" he grinds out. "How sweet of you to interfere where you weren't wanted. So what's this about then? You suddenly wanna get a drink like old pals?"

"I was in the area, why not?" he replies smoothly and Brendan gets it, gets what Eoghan wants. Something sparks along his skin and the constant low-level hum that hasn't left him for a week increases until he's deafened by it.

"Hmm, why not?"

Later, when he's buzzing drunk, Eoghan pulls him into an arched doorway on Essex Street, presses him up against the brick and kisses him. For a second, Brendan loses himself in the feel of it, a body pushed up hard against his own, blissful forgetting, but then a surge of adrenaline punches through him and he shoves Eoghan away, keeps one arm out in front of him so he can't come close again.

"What's the matter?"

"I don't - I think you should go home, Eoghan," he says raggedly, voice no more than a breathless scrape through his throat.

"I though that's what we were doing?"

Brendan falls back against the wall and doubles over, hands braced against his thighs and head bowed. "Alone, I can't do this. I don't want to."

There's a lengthy silence in which he doesn't look up, just keeps his eyes on the pavement and breathes. He misses the swinging pull of silver weight around his neck, drawn towards the floor by gravity.

"You're actually serious aren't you?" Eoghan eventually asks and Brendan peers up at him.

"I'm sorry, I thought I could - " he chokes, " - but I can't."

"Guess I don't have to ask why," Eoghan says flatly and Brendan shakes his head. He's so tired he can hardly stand up straight, the last few weeks finally crashing down around him like an avalanche. He sees Steven, broken and bruised and gasping as he woke up in a hospital bed, the look in his eyes as they'd kissed goodbye, the delicate press of his fingers around Brendan's cross over his hammering heart and he realises there are tears in his eyes and doesn't even try to fight them. He _can't_ keep fighting. "Brendan? Jesus, are you okay?"

"Don't - " he says weakly. "Just go."

"I can't leave you like this."

"Yeah, you can. I'm fine, honestly," he says and he kind of means it. It's strange to be half collapsed, weeping in the streets and yet feeling suddenly like a huge weight has lifted off his shoulders. Maybe, finally, it's acceptance.

* * *

_day twenty-three_

He's half dozing when he's startled awake by a knock on his door. He's exhausted and sleep deprived, can only manage to catch half an hour here and there when he gets to the point where he can hardly keep his eyes open because any other time he tries he can't calm the throbbing in his chest enough to relax. There's nothing left to him anymore, just a hollow void where his heart used to be and the numb sense that he'll be stuck feeling like this forever.

He tries to ignore the banging, hopes whoever it is will fuck off - he's not in the mood - but he isn't that lucky and it goes on and on, knock after knock, until he has to get up off the sofa and drag himself to the door. It's blood dark outside, his watch telling him it's nine thirty at night, what the hell? He fumbles the lock and slides it open, leans against it for support and then is glad he did when his whole world tilts suddenly and violently sideways.

"Wha - " he says eloquently and Steven blinks at him owlishly like _he's_ the one in shock.

"I 'ave something that belongs to you - you left it behind," he says, voice and mouth trembling ever so slightly. Brendan drinks in the sight of him, vivid and beautiful, heart-achingly familiar flash of silver visible through the collar of his coat, and gathers up every detail instantly like he's dreaming and might wake up and lose all of this at any moment. It's not a dream, though. His back aches and he feels faintly sick and if this _were_ a dream he's fairly certain Steven would have turned up wearing nothing but a red ribbon tied into a bow.

He takes a breath, feels a little dizzy and soft around the edges, and makes a promise that he intends to keep. "Well - I won't make that mistake again."

Steven's face splits into a blinding smile and it's like a breath of fresh air hitting him, like the fucking sun coming out from behind a cloud. It lights Brendan up and he's drawn, inexorably, towards it like a moth. Before he's even conscious of what he's doing his shaking hands are touching, fingers curled around Steven's neck, touching his mouth, his cheeks, his eyelashes. He slowly backs them up until Steven's pressed against the outside hallway wall, pins him there with his whole body, and kisses him.

Steven's arms come up around his neck and hold on tightly. He angles his head and Brendan loses himself in the feeling of his damp mouth, perfect slow slide of lips and tongue until they're both breathless. When he pulls back Steven follows, cling of lips to the corner of Brendan's mouth, his jaw, down his neck, and buries his face against Brendan's frantic pulse.

"You wanna come in?" he asks, voice a low rumble.

"Gimme a minute," Steven muffles against his neck and it sounds a bit like he's laughing. Brendan dips his head and angles back enough to see his face and realises he bloody well is.

"Okay - "

"I'm sorry, I just - " he says through a smile, " - I can't believe this is happenin'"

His laughter is contagious and Brendan finds himself catching it. He thinks they probably look like a right couple of nutters, half slumped together in the hallway giggling away like two schoolboys. Brendan feels elated to the point that he thinks he could probably float away like a helium balloon and with a sudden surge of giddy madness he ducks down to Steven's middle and slings the boy over his shoulder.

"Brendan!" he shrieks, high-pitched and panicked and Brendan gives him a sharp slap on the arse.

"Shhh, you'll disturb the neighbours," he breezes, picks up the bag on the floor and turns to carry a wriggling Steven over the doorway to his flat.

* * *

_twenty-four days_

There's something shifting against him but he's deep in the fog of sleep and it's a slow, lazy ascent before he can locate his heavy limbs enough to grab hold of it and make it stop. One of his arms is trapped, pressed into the mattress by a warm weight and he can feel the puff of breath against the top of it. The fingers of his free arm curl into hot skin and he presses his face further into fluffy hair that tickles his nose and surrounds him in a familiar scent, feels the rough bumps of a metal chain under his lips and drags his tongue across it. His hand wanders, fingers splayed and trailing across the smooth body, a stomach, the sharp bone of a hip, a thigh.

"Mornin'," Steven sighs softly and pushes back into Brendan's chest.

"Mmmm."

Brendan grips his leg and draws it up in front of him, plasters his whole body to his back, already half-hard dick fitting satisfyingly against the swell of Steven's arse and making him moan and arch into him. He rolls his hips forward, thrills at the drag of skin, and slides one hand around to Steven's front to press them more firmly together. Desperate need in him grows until it's too much to bear and even though he's already fucked Steven three times over the course of last night it's like his appetite has gone into overdrive and he can't get enough. Nothing he does seems to quench it.

Steven grasps hold of Brendan's hand against his stomach and pulls it back over his hip and down to between his legs. He presses his fingers to the backs of Brendan's own and pushes them up between his cheeks and against his hole.

"Oh, God - " Brendan chokes out. He's not even going to need any lube, Steven still fucked loose and slick under his fingertips and he slides two inside easily and twists them until Steven keens high in his throat. Brendan's already shaking in anticipation, heart fluttering like crazy, and he spreads Steven open and pushes all the way in in one smooth stroke until he's as deep as he can get and it's _still_ not enough. He wants to crawl inside Steven's skin and fucking live there, he will _never_ be deep enough.

Steven pushes back against him with an urgent whimper and he comes back to himself, grips his hip tightly and slides all the way out, slow as he can bear, before pushing back inside. He wants this to last all fucking day, long, lazy strokes that make Steven arch desperately against him and set Brendan's insides alight. He feels Steven's ragged breath across his arm, the press of his lips and scrape of his teeth as he chews on the skin there and he crooks it and wraps it around Steven's chest to pull him closer. With his free hand he takes tight hold of Steven's dick, desperate to feel him come apart.

Steven cries out and turns his face over his shoulder. "Brendan - " and Brendan surges forward and kisses him, wet and open and filthy, just the slick slide of tongues together. Steven trembles against him and Brendan knows he's close, doesn't stop pumping his fist or fucking into him, and finally he comes with a high moan, seizing in Brendan's arms and throwing his head back so hard that he nearly nuts him. He's so beautiful when he comes, wanton and helplessly abandoned and Brendan can't slow the build of pressure in his own body. Without warning he's following Steven over the edge before he's even come down, his orgasm ripping through him and blanking out everything but the feeling of the boy wrapped up in his arms.

"Oh my God, what a way to wake up," Steven breathes roughly and rolls over onto his back. He pulls a face, his nose all scrunched up. "Uh, I really need a shower."

Brendan laughs and drags his fingers through the come splattered across Steven's stomach. The bed's soaked next to him and the room stinks of sweat and sex and _them_ and he inhales deeply.

* * *

_twenty-seven days_

They stand, wrapped up warm in their winter coats, lost in the crowd of people, families, teenagers, lovers, friends, and wait. It's been years since he's done this and he's actually pretty excited, although he'd never admit it out loud. He can _tell_ Steven is, though, he hasn't stopped smiling since earlier when Brendan had offered this up as a casual suggestion that was anything but.

The air's fresh and crisp around them and the atmosphere is sweet and festive. The smell of roasting chestnuts and baking cinnamon rolls over them, heady spices and smoky wood.

"Last time I watched the lights come on I was still married," he says conversationally, finds himself chattering on a lot more than usual these days, a lot more open and willing to share little things that previously held no meaning. "We brought the boys and Padraig had been that excited all day he ran out of energy before they were switched on, conked straight out in my arms."

Steven laughs, clear and genuine. His eyes crinkle up at the corners and Brendan brushes a thumb over the lines. They're in public but the urge to put distance between them is non-existent and he'd chalk it up to being anonymous in a crowd, or the two glasses of eggnog he's had, but he knows better. He looks at Steven, beautiful and happy, and he wants other people to see what he sees. He wants people to look and appreciate what he has because he's worked so damn hard for it.

"Ten - Nine - Eight - "

The countdown starts and Brendan hardly hears it, just shuffles closer to Steven.

" - Seven - Six - Five - "

Steven's mouth moves silently with the numbers and he places both his gloved hands on Brendan's waist, looks up at him, smiling and openly adoring.

" - Four - Three - Two - "

He cups his hands around Steven's neck and dips his head so they're close, misting breath mingling in the small space between them.

" - One!"

The lights erupt all around them and Steven turns his head up in awe, mouth parted in wonder, but Brendan doesn't look away. Instead he watches their twinkling reflections in Steven's wide blue eyes. He blinks, eyelashes fluttering, and catches Brendan's gaze again.

"They're pretty mint, aren't they?" he says, so perfectly _Steven_, and Brendan laughs.

"Yeah, _mint_," he repeats fondly, closes the gap between them and seals the word in with a kiss.

* * *

_twenty-nine days_

He presses his lips together in an effort to try not to laugh as he tops up two glasses with whiskey and ginger ale, Nana's favourite Christmas tipple, the smell of it warm and bitter in his memory. Whenever Steven moves glitter and colourful strips of shiny film fall off him and he's wearing the most indulgent smile Brendan's ever seen.

"Laugh it up, you're next," he says mock-threateningly and shakes his head close so that Brendan ends up suffocating on a cloud of sparkly dust.

"I reckon I could pull it off," he sniffs haughtily, "think I'd look fetching in nothing but tinsel."

"Mmm, maybe later on we could test that theory," he mumbles quietly with a glint in his eye and Brendan hands him a glass, touching Steven's fingers briefly with his own. He looks out across the living room and it honestly looks like a bomb's hit it. There's decorations everywhere, baubles and gold shiny string and tangled fairy lights and Declan and Padraig bickering in the middle of it all, the living embodiment of ground zero. "We can't hide away in Ireland forever you know."

Steven says the words so softly and Brendan glances at him, sees that he's watching the boys too.

"I know, Steven."

"We 'ave to go back sometime."

"Yeah, I know."

"We both 'ave jobs to get back to, family to deal with - "

"I _know_, okay? You think I don't know this? I know."

"Okay, I'm just sayin'."

"Can't we just enjoy this for a bit longer?"

"You know I'd love to, Brendan, but - "

"Yeah - I know."

Steven rubs a warm palm across his shoulder and heads back into the living room, snatches a bauble smoothly off Declan as he sweeps past and darts out of his grasp when he slaps a hand out to grab it back. He looks more like a Christmas tree than the actual tree does since Brendan's youngest had taken it upon himself to wrap three different colours of tinsel around his neck and arms and fasten a red and gold bow into his hair. He'd tipped a whole tub of glitter over Steven's head and he'd just laughed and wrestled Padraig to the floor.

Brendan sips his whiskey and watches. He feels the pieces of himself knitting slowly back together, feels the gaps fill up and the cracks smooth out. He knows Steven's right, they can't stay here forever. At some point they'll have to go back to the village and face whatever comes their way, face the real challenges of being together and the reality of what forever means.

Brendan's almost ready, he's almost whole again.

* * *

_thirty-one days_

They sit in the car, parked up outside his flat, in total silence.

Brendan looks across at Steven, sees his lips pressed tightly together, his hands clenched in his lap, fingernails picking at the skin around his thumb.

"Hey," he says softly, reaches over and takes one fidgeting hand in his own, tangles their fingers together. "You ready?"

"Yeah, you?"

He takes a deep breath, leans over the gear stick and presses a kiss to Steven's lips. "Yeah, I really am."


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: I cant seem to stop writing new chapters for this so here's another. It's mostly fluff and it's _really _self-indelgent - again. There's some fairly explicit sex and a tiny bit of Doug. It's also 8000 words. They're getting longer. I need help.

There's Christmas spirit all around in the eighteen days after Ste and Brendan return to the village and Ste makes a few important revelations while they prepare for a hectic family holiday.

* * *

_zero days _

On the outside he's holding it together pretty well but inside he feels like a bag of squirming kittens about to be chucked into a river and what a fucking tragic analogy that is, now he's thinking about drowning kittens.

Brendan opens the passenger side door and stands there patiently, waits him out until Ste can bear to look over. The sun shines behind him, colours the ends of his hair auburn and casts sharp angles across his features and Ste's suddenly a little hazy and his heart feels swollen and sluggish. Brendan offers him a hand and when he takes it everything solidifies into sharp clarity. His nerves calm and when Brendan hauls him out of the car he crowds close and slides his hands into Brendan's open coat to hold him around his waist.

"Hey," Brendan murmurs softly.

"Hiya."

"Home sweet home."

"I doubt it."

Brendan laughs dryly and pulls him closer, kisses him on the forehead in a way that makes him melt. "Come on, you're stayin' at mine tonight."

"And when was this decided?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, days ago. Didn't you get the memo?"

"Must 'ave missed that one in and amongst all the other 'memos' I was gettin' from you, y'know, like the one where I do all the washing up because it makes your hands feel _squeaky_? Or the one where I clean all the kitchen because I cooked _all the food_ in it and made it messy in the first place?"

"It's okay, you'll catch up," Brendan says with a bright grin. "I'll buy you a diary, help you keep track."

"Awww, I'm such a lucky guy. Anything else I should know?"

"That you're obviously stalling?" There's nothing Ste can say to that because he's right, sees right through him. He takes Ste's hand out of his coat and grips it firmly. "Come on. We don't waste time anymore, remember?"

Ste nods, loves the way Brendan says _we_ so casually. They're a _we_ know. An us. A them, the two of them, Brendan and Ste, Ste and Brendan. Remember that couple we met the other week? Brendan and Ste? Yeah, they were pretty great together weren't they?

Upstairs is the rest of their lives and Ste can't falter at this step. Brendan's right, he doesn't want to waste anymore time.

* * *

_two days_

After twelve rings - he counted - Doug finally answers his phone. "Ste?"

"Hiya, how you doin'?" he asks nervously and Doug tells him, okay, not bad, he's been spending time with family, old friends, cousins he hasn't seen in years. Could be worse. Ste thinks, _oh, don't worry about that, you're about to be._

"Texas said that you'd disappeared from the village for a while," he says, voice wavering only slightly but Ste can read his tone completely - he knows.

He swallows through his dry throat, takes a shaky breath. "Yeah, I went to Dublin."

Doug exhales like he's been punched, loud and ragged, like he's been holding that breath in for weeks and Ste's just forced it out of him. "Right, okay."

"I thought I should ring and tell you that me and Bren - "

"_Don't_, don't say his name, I really don't wanna hear it, I can't - "

"Doug - "

"I said _don't_. Just tell me one thing, honestly, and whatever you say I'll believe you," he says thickly, voice cracking. "Did you end things because you were planning to run straight back to him?"

"No, I didn't, you know I didn't," Ste says a little desperately. "We were so messed up, Doug. We'd been together for no time at all and we were ready to crack. Could _you_ see a future for us?"

"Yeah, I know, I just - " he sniffs and sighs and can't seem to come up with any words. Ste thinks maybe it would be easier for him if it _had_ been all about Brendan. At least then there'd be a clear cut line, a black and a white, no muddled feelings of regret and not knowing and maybe he could move on more easily.

"You know that I loved you."

"Yeah, I know. You just loved him more."

The words sit between them and Ste can't deny that they're true so he doesn't. He doesn't say a thing because it can't help Doug now, nothing he says can.

"Are you comin' back?" he asks instead.

"I was thinking I wanted to spend Christmas and New Years with my family but - yeah, after that. Got a business to run, don't we?" Doug chokes through a wet laugh and Ste knows they have so much more to talk about but for now it it can wait.

"Yeah, yeah we do."

* * *

_four days_

"You don't think you should ask me before you give jobs to your random boyfriends in _my _club, Chez?"

"I think I still own part of that club and I can do what I like so you can shut your face."

"Wow, that's mature. I'm sure your Ma would be so proud of your witty comebacks, really, brilliant."

"I'm sure your Ma would be so proud of your stupid face."

"Have you looked in a mirror recently?"

"Will you two just _shut up!?_" Ste snaps, slams one hand down on the dining table both for emphasis and in an attempt to make a sound loud enough to penetrate the Brady screeching. It's literally first thing in the morning and all he wants to do it have some breakfast and peace and quiet before he has to go and open up the deli and get shouted at all day by whinging customers. He might as well not bother, might as well stay here and listen to Cheryl and Brendan go at it like a couple of kids instead.

"Fine, _you_ deal with him," Cheryl practically growls at him and strops out of the door, slamming it behind her with an almighty rattle. Ste says nothing, just carries on eating his toast with the pin-prickly feeling of Brendan's gaze fixed on him but he will _not_ indulge him and turn around, not on his life. Brendan must give up trying to move him with the almighty power of his brain because he eventually throws himself down in the chair opposite, legs splayed and arms folded over his chest. He takes a big breath and opens his mouth to speak.

"I've got my own kids coming to live with me in a few days, I've no interest in adopting two more," Ste interrupts severely before Brendan can get out any words and he scowls at Ste so petulantly he nearly chokes on his toast with the sudden urge to laugh. "You look like a big, sad puppy right now," he says fondly and leans across the table to try and ruffle at Brendan's hair. He jerks back out of Ste's reach and then, eyes twinkling, lunges forward and tries to bite his hand. "Sorry, did I say puppy? I meant rabid pitbull."

"You're supposed to take my side you know, that's what - " he halts and gestures between them with his hand, vague back and forth motion, " - y'know? That's what _you're_ supposed to do."

"That's what what are supposed to do?" Ste asks, amused and feeling just a little offended. "Boyfriends? Lovers? Peas in a pod? Chums?"

"You know what I meant - "

"I've got it, that's what sweethearts do."

"Okay, sarcasm appreciated, I get it - "

"Suitors? Companions?"

"What, are you hiding a thesaurus somewhere?"

"Bedfellows? Objects of affection?"

"How long is this gonna go on for?" Brendan asks blankly.

"I've got a list a mile long," Ste replies, trying but horribly failing to fight the massive smile that's trying to split his face in two. "I've been puttin' it together for you so you can pick the one you like best."

Brendan sighs, long-suffering and resigned. He tosses his hand in a vague gesture to continue and settles in. "Go on then, if it'll make you happy."

Ste's going to make him regret those words.

* * *

_six days_

"Daddy!"

He hears the word like it's in stereo, one in each ear deafening him but he doesn't care because it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. He hoists both of his children up into his arms and nearly collapses under their wriggling, laughing weight. He holds them tightly and just soaks in their warmth and adoration.

"Daddy's missed you two. I can't wait to get you back home so you can make a mess of the place, it's been too tidy without you," he says and Leah cackles, loud and high and kind of evil, actually. Amy watches them from the breakfast counter with a smile on her face and Ste notices she's fiddling with the huge, blinding rock on her finger and waving her hand about in a very obvious manner. He rolls his eyes and puts down Leah and Lucas and she looks like she's all but vibrating with the need to tell him all about it.

"Yeah, I can see it, don't worry," he says, taking a seat on one of the tall stools and grabbing her hand. The diamond is the biggest he's ever seen, bigger than anything Jacqui McQueen's ever worn, even, and he gawps at it. "You couldn't miss the bloody thing, oh my God."

"I _know_," she says excitedly. "Ste, he's so amazing, he's all into this charity stuff and he's great with the kids and the best part - "

She looks about ready to burst and wants him to ask, so he does. "What?"

"He's _six foot four _and gorgeous."

He laughs. "Impressive. Do I get to meet him?"

"Maybe, when I've had six months to make sure he's not for turning."

"What are you implyin' Ames? I've got my own man thank you very much." She falls quiet and pensive, fiddles with the ring on her finger. "You can tell me what you're thinkin' you know, I'm not gonna get upset."

"You know I worry about you," she says quietly.

"And you know that I appreciate it."

"How are things going?"

He smiles, can't help it because whenever he thinks about how _things_ are actually _going_ he just feels giddy. He has Brendan and now he has his children and there's not a lot more he could really ask for. "Really good. Like, _actually_, really good."

"You know what? You look - different," she says, peering at him and cocking her head. "I can't put my finger on it, like - you look easy."

"You callin' me a slag?"

"No," she tuts and smacks him. "Not like _that_. Like, relaxed. You've barely stopped smiling since you got here. It's nice to see it again."

Ste gives her a bright grin in thanks and it makes her laugh. "He makes me happy, that's it really. That's all there is to it."

"Just be careful, okay?"

"Look, Ames, no offence of anything but - I'm sick of people tellin' me to be careful. I am. I _know_ Brendan, I know him better than anyone, and this is _my _choice, no one else's. I'm not stupid."

She considers him for a few seconds, really considers him like she can read his thoughts or something. Knowing Amy she probably can. "I know you're not stupid, Ste. I trust that you know what you're doin' but it doesn't magically erase what I know about him or how I feel about him. You're just gonna have to let me worry, okay?"

He holds up his hand up in a gesture that they haven't performed in ages. "Then I get to worry about you and what's-his-name - "

"Philipe."

" - yeah, him, in whatever-that-place - "

"Namibia."

" - yeah, that one."

"Deal," she says and links her little finger with his with a small smile. It's such a warm and familiar gesture that he suddenly and fiercely misses her already, feels himself choke up and a frown pull at his forehead. It just hits him like a brick flying out of nowhere that he's not going to see her for six whole months. Her lip wobbles and she chokes out a small, desperate, "oh no, don't, Ste," but it's too late - he's well and truly off. She crowds close between his knees and flings her arms around him and he clings to her small frame a little to tightly. She smells just like she used to, coconut and laundry and kids and it physically winds him.

"I 'ave a question, actually," he muffles into her shoulder, voice syrupy through his thick throat.

"G-go on," she stutters back, face pressed into his neck and he can feel moisture gathering and dripping down the front of his t-shirt.

He sniffs noisily. "Where in the the _fuck_ is Namibia?"

* * *

_nine days_

He's back home, his own home, not Cheryl and Brendan's home, and he thinks he might have been underplaying it when he'd said the kids would make a mess. Jesus, it looks like a nuclear bomb went off in his living room. It's different after all the time they spent away and he'd forgotten the noise and carnage. The Bradys have nothing on Leah and Lucas.

He's getting back into the swing of being a single father again and he's hardly left his flat except to go to the work and make sure Leanne or Barney are taking care of his deli properly. Between the three of them they've got the place covered: Ste drops the kids off at nursery and school, cooks all day and leaves one of his happy worker bees to do the evening shifts. He's hoping for a bit of romance in the workplace between them and stokes the flame whenever he can, anything to take the attention off his own love life.

If he has to hear Leanne ask anymore questions like _who's better in bed, Doug or Brendan? _or _who has a bigger willy, your husband or your boyfriend? _he's going to cut someone.

He's almost zonked out on the sofa, Lucas raptly watching TV on the floor and Leah sprawled on top of him, when he faintly hears his front door shuffle open.

"Steven?" He can't be arsed moving at all and he doesn't even have the energy to ask Leah why she's crawling off him and creeping off into the corner all of a sudden - she's weird like that sometimes. "Stev - "

"Raaarrr!"

"Jesus!"

Ste startles upright at whip-crack of Brendan's cry and he watches, completely baffled, as he staggers across the living room and leans, doubled over with his one hand supporting his weight against his leg and the other over his heart, against the wall. He realises that Leah had hidden and jumped out and scared him and now she's stood stifling her giggles with both hands pressed against her mouth. Ste collapses back onto the sofa, throws his head back and laughs right along with her.

"What's the matter with you two? You tryin' to give me a coronary? Brendan gasps out between deep, calming breaths.

"What's a cornery, daddy?"

"It's summat that 'appens to old people, Leah," Ste tells her through a smile and Brendan glowers at him and he can practically _see _the scathing retort on the very tip of his tongue until Lucas pulls on the leg of his jeans and distracts him.

"Are you okay?" he asks and Brendan's face softens into something truly lovely as he looks at Ste's son.

"Course I am, Lucas." He bends down and hoists Lucas up into his arms. "Your daddy and big sister are just big bullies, that's all."

Lucas glances over at the pair of them, Ste still sprawled out across the sofa and Leah perched to him, shoulders still shaking through her laughter, and gives Brendan the most solemn nod he thinks he's ever seen on a three year old. "I know."

"Yeah? Mean ain't they?" Brendan asks all sympathetically.

"Leah hit me in the face with my Furby the yesterday," he says with a long-suffering sigh, "and then she hit _my_ Furby in the face with _her_ Furby."

Brendan tuts and shakes his head. "Go on."

"Oi - "

"Steven, we're having a private conversation over here, if you don't mind," Brendan interrupts smoothly, expression sly and mischievous and Ste's teeth click as he shuts his mouth and narrows his eyes in a glare.

"And then daddy ate all my chocolate buttons and said it was a ghost but I know it was him, I saw him doin' it," his only son tells his new best friend sadly and Ste gawps, feels completely betrayed by his own flesh and blood.

"That's terrible."

"Excuse me - "

"Steven, please. Your son is talking."

Ste shakes his head at him and presses his mouth in a firm line, tries not to smirk but he can't help it. Brendan's so bloody charming that even his own son has forsaken him but Ste will get his own back, later. For now he can stand to lose this one if it means getting to watch Brendan settle down onto his living room floor with Lucas in his lap looking for all the world like he's as besotted as his daddy is.

* * *

_twelve days_

The office door shuts with a crack as he's slammed back against it, Brendan plastered against his front, a hot, solid weight all along the length of him, and Brendan's mouth pressing wet, sucking kisses against the skin of his throat until he's melting against him. His hands cling in the material of Brendan's shirt across his shoulders and he grinds helplessly against the thigh pushed up between his legs.

He's been in this office for a grand total of six seconds, he thinks. He'd only come to the club to ask if Brendan fancied lunch.

Ste threads his fingers through Brendan's hair and pulls until he licks a damp path up his jaw and into his mouth, tongue dragging against his own in a slow, rolling rhythm to match their tightly pressed bodies. Brendan's hands slip down his sides and tug the material of his shirt out of his trousers, work open his button and zip until he can worm one hand down the front of his underwear. Ste jerks up against him when Brendan's open palm rubs him up and down and he hooks one knee over Brendan's hip and plants his foot firmly against the door for leverage.

"Fuck me on your desk, Bren," he gasps out between kisses. "We 'aven't done it in ages."

"Gladly," Brendan growls against his mouth, bites his bottom lip and sucks on it. He grips Ste tightly under both thighs and pulls his legs up around his waist, grinds him back into the door hard until Ste can get a secure hold around his shoulders. He can feel the ripple and flex of Brendan's muscles under his hands and thrills at the raw strength there as he carries Ste across the room. "Do me a favour - " he says roughly, nods at the clutter covering the desktop and Ste flings one arm back and clears it all onto the floor with one swipe of his hand. "Good boy."

"Aren't I just?" Ste breathes, voice catching on a ragged exhale because Brendan calling him that in _this _office is enough to send shivers up his spine. "What do I get for it?"

"You get to come in my mouth after I've fucked you raw - if you can last that long, that is."

"Fuck - oh, God - " he chokes incoherently and buries his face against Brendan's neck. Just the sound of his voice making filthy promises would do at this point so Ste's not sure how that's going to happen but he's a trier and he loves a challenge, especially can't resist one from Brendan.

He locks his ankles around Brendan's hips and sets his shaking hands on the buttons of his black shirt, presses his lips against Brendan's frantic pulse and pulls the skin between his teeth to make him groan and dig his fingers into Ste's waist. The buttons unhook one at a time until he can slide his open palms across Brendan's chest and over his shoulders until the shirt slips off and falls to the floor. There's so much skin on display and Ste's mouth waters, wants to devour every inch of him. He presses his tongue against Brendan's collar bone, sucks and kisses the skin, drags his lips across the path his hands just took as Brendan flicks open his shirt, secures one strong arm around his back to support his weight and pulls his trousers and boxers right out from under him.

He makes a muffled 'unf' sound when he lands back on the desk, cold wood biting into his arse making him arch up into Brendan's warm body as they jointly wrestle him all the way out of his pants, shoes going with them until he's wearing nothing but his open shirt, half hanging off his shoulders. Brendan cups one hand around his cheek and drags a thumb across his mouth and Ste gets the idea and dips his head to catch the tips of Brendan's fingers on his bottom lip briefly before sucking two digits into his mouth and wetting them with his swirling tongue.

Brendan watches him with dark, eager eyes, mouth parted and breath puffing out harsh and quick. When he deems Ste's done a decent enough job he trails his damp fingers all the way out of his mouth, thin string of spit clinging against his bottom lip, glistening wet and obscene, and brings them down between his legs. He presses against Ste's hole, rubs until his muscles gives way and pushes one finger all the way in, smooth slide to match the long breath he sighs out as it goes to force himself to relax - he's wound up too tight, too desperate.

Brendan studies his face, intent and predatory and completely, utterly focused, as he fingers him open roughly, pushing and twisting until Ste's whimpering and trembling against him from the hot pressure pressing against the inside of him. Ste quakes under the weight of that gaze every time; it's too much, too powerful with too much meaning behind it and it overwhelms him.

"Okay, okay, come on I'm gaggin' for it 'ere," he says roughly and Brendan puffs a laugh. Ste fumbles opens his trousers, spits into his own hand and strokes Brendan's dick quickly, spreads the slick pre-come as he goes. He hooks one hand around Brendan's neck and pulls him in close until their noses bump together, pumps his hand across the hard flesh and lines them up. The slow, burning slide of Brendan pushing into him is so satisfying and a long, low moan tears out of his throat and he pants against Brendan's mouth, centimetres away from his own. "Oh, God - "

"Not even close," Brendan growls, leans his weight against the desk with one hand and grips Ste's thigh with his other before he fucks him in earnest. It's quick and dirty, hard, fast strokes that punch through his whole body and hit him deep inside until he's tensing up, can feel the build of his orgasm dangerously close and intensely, ridiculously amazing. He rails against it, determined to win Brendan's little wager and tightens his muscles in a squeeze around Brendan's dick.

"Jesus - " Brendan chokes out and starts to shake. His eyelids flutter delicately and his fingernails tear into the skin of Ste's thigh and with the hand curled around Brendan's neck, Ste pulls him into a crushing, searing kiss, sucks on his tongue and angles his mouth to lick deep. Brendan's rhythm stutters, goes erratic and punishingly hard until he shudders and comes. He tears his mouth away, turns his face into the side of Ste's neck and moans, high and broken, and the sound of him desperately coming apart is so stunning, so searingly hot that he nearly loses control himself.

Ste wills himself back from the edge, distracts himself by threading his trembling fingers into Brendan's hair and soothing him down until he stops shaking and pulls back to look at him appraisingly. He's all soft and messy and surprised and Ste loves him like this.

"You little cheater," he laughs breathlessly and Ste bites his lip, pleased as punch. Brendan kisses him, curls his hands around both Ste's thighs and pushes him further back so that he can put his feet on the edge of the desk for balance. He spreads his palms against the wood to support himself back on his shaking arms and thinks he wouldn't be that surprised if he just collapsed and brained himself at this point.

Brendan replaces his softening dick with his fingers, pushes two into his already slick hole and presses up so hard and sudden that Ste gasps and arches right off the table until Brendan has to lay a firm hand across his middle to hold him down. "Deal's a deal," he says roughly and nuzzles his nose against Ste's chin until he tips his head back and he can plant a wet, sucking kiss against his Adam's apple before his head disappears down between Ste's legs.

Brendan sucks him down without any messing about, wet and clinging mouth and lips and tongue _ohgodsoperfect, _and Ste's head falls back, breath panting out of him raggedly. It takes less than a minute before heat floods through his insides, pressure building and building until his hands scrabble against the wood for something to cling to and he's shaking, violently and out of his control. Brendan doesn't let up, seals his lips around him tightly and swallows him all the way down until Ste feels the head of his dick bump the back of Brendan's throat and flutter and he's coming, hard and blinding, from the wet heat and the intense sensation of Brendan's long, dexterous fingers fucking him, rough and relentless and perfect.

"Help - " he chokes out when he can see again and his voice returns to him and Brendan stops nuzzling his lips against Ste's hip and peers up. His arms are trembling and he has exactly zero energy to support himself anymore and Brendan smirks at him smugly, wraps two strong arms around his waist and pulls him close so he's perched on the end of the desk slumping all of his weight onto the solid body in front of him. He gasps and tries to get his breathing back under control, peers at the clock vaguely. "Lunch."

"What?"

"I came to ask you if you wanted lunch," Ste explains stupidly. He just lost half his brain cells through his dick so he can be forgiven if he's a bit dippy right now. "And _don't _say _I just ate, _please."

Brendan snorts a laugh, open and goofy like he can't help it. "How did you know that I was gonna say that?"

"We've been spendin' far too much time together, clearly."

"Oh, charming." He gives Ste a playful little shove and he locks his ankles back into position around Brendan's back so he can't move away.

"_No, _I love it," he says softly, a little bashful and and he suddenly can't meet Brendan's eyes, thinks he might be blushing a bit. Brendan dips his head to catch his gaze, cups a hand around his cheek and strokes his thumb under his eye.

"You _love _it, huh?"

"Mmmhmm."

Brendan's eyes twinkle in the low light of the office and he looks so warm and thoughtful. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

_fifteen days_

"I'm just sayin', it's a bit weird that she hasn't even spoken about him in months and now he rocks up out of nowhere and they're suddenly a couple," Brendan huffs as he sets down the shopping bags against the table leg and sprawls himself all over a chair.

"Yeah it is a bit," Ste says agreeably, rolling his stiff shoulders and glad to dump his stuff finally.

He aches all over - six hours of Christmas shopping will do that to you. He'd started off like an excitable puppy, bouncing around with far too much energy until Brendan had physically restrained him right in the middle of the indoor market, wrapped him up, pinning his arms to his side, and physically lifted and carried him up an aisle before he'd promised to behave himself. It had lasted until they'd gotten to the 'Fairy Pants' stall and then they'd both just cracked up. Brendan had actually bought him a pink tutu for five quid and Ste had been in such a stupid mood that he'd promised to wear it on Christmas day.

Now he's exhausted and in desperate need of a pint. "Still, Nate seems like a nice enough bloke. Pint, yeah?"

Brendan nods at him. "Yeah they _seem _nice and then before you know it they're tucking their dicks between their legs and wearing your skin."

"Yeah I suppo - wait, _what?"_

"It's a _film_, I don't actually know someone who did that," Brendan says, exasperation and amusement colouring his expression.

"Oooh, well I'm sure if he _is _actually crazy he can't possibly be _that_ bad. Back in a sec." He heads to the bar, can already see Darren eyeing up Brendan apprehensively and so thoroughly that he doesn't even notice Ste stood there waving his hand. He blows out a sigh. "What d'you think he's gonna do Darren?"

"Wha - nothing. I dunno what you're talkin' about," he splutters unconvincingly. "What can I get you?"

He orders the drinks and slumps against the bar, his back and legs killing him from all the walking. He's pretty pleased with his toys for the kids but he'd freaked out when Brendan had told him Declan and Padraig were coming to spend Christmas day with them and gone into some kind of weird overdrive panicking about what to buy them. He gets on well with Brendan's kids but he _knows _kids, especially stroppy teenagers - he was the king of wrong-un's after all, and they can be fickle. He wants to be the step-father sent from Lapland itself. He has enough issues with his own step-father to colour his views on the subject and, fucking Hell, did he just refer to himself as their _step-father?_

"Ste - " He snaps out of his bizarre thoughts to the sound of Darren whispering and gesturing him closer, leaning in like they're about to share a secret. "Does he ever say anything about me?"

Ste resists the urge to laugh and roll his eyes - what are they, fifteen year old girls? "Why? D'you want me to ask him out for you?"

"Wha - No! You might be mad enough to go out with him but I'd rather not get murdered in my sleep thanks very much!"

"Err, Darren!"

"I mean it, don't you worry about it at all?" he asks, completely serious and Ste really doesn't even know how to start explaining to someone that _no _he's _not _afraid that his boyfriend's going to _kill_ him. He's spared the conversation, luckily, by the arrival of Nancy.

"Darren, Jack wants a word," she tells him and he gives Ste a wink and whispers, conspiratorially, "we'll talk later," to which Ste responds with a vaguely baffled nod. He turns to Nancy, full of thanks.

"Don't mention it - I'm used to doing that," she says with a sigh and a smile. "You know how insensitive he is."

"It's okay, It's not like I didn't know what I was lettin' myself in for."

"And yet you're still together."

"Nancy, please don't you start - "

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that," she interrupts and puts a hand on his arm. "He might be a mystery to most people around here but he's stood by two of my best friends when they needed him most - he can't be all that bad, can he?"

Ste looks across the bar, eyes drawn straight to Brendan instinctively like Ste's a compass and Brendan's his north. He's on the phone, arguing with someone by the looks of it, and he must sense the weight of Ste's stare because his eyes flick to the side and their gaze connects, instant spark between them even from yards away. Brendan mouths _what_ and looks confused and Ste turns back to the bar to grab the drinks and hide his smile. "Damn right he's not."

"Anyway - " she adds, dry and amused, " - how do you think people looked at me when I told them I was marrying Darren Osbourne?"

* * *

_seventeen days_

It's the night before Christmas Eve and it's way past his kids bedtimes but they don't seem to care so Ste thinks, fuck it, they might actually sleep tomorrow night with any luck if they're knackered enough, and leaves them playing with Padraig on Brendan's living room floor. He thinks that Leah's fallen a little bit in love with Brendan's youngest, despite him having quite a few years on her yet, and he's been musing for the past five minutes whether that technically breaks come kind of incest law. He knows he must be tipsy when he's thinking about incest laws.

Brendan, however, is downright drunk. Not morbid, philosophy professor drunk like he sometimes gets, but open and shining and merrily drunk where he laughs easily and his eyes sparkle and everything that comes out of his mouth is pure comedy gold. He's talking now, gesturing out some story that he and Cheryl are jointly telling for Nate and Declan's entertainment, but Ste's not really listening to the words, he's too busy just watching, soaking him in and enjoying the warmth that pools through him when their eyes meet. Plus, he's already heard this story, the telling of it like a worn but comfortable t-shirt.

He wonders if they'll be a point in his life when every story will feel like that. Could he ever get bored of listening to Brendan talk? Could he ever imagine looking at him and not being constantly blind-sided by how gorgeous he is? He doesn't think it's possible.

"Come on, can we, Bren, _please_," Cheryl's saying, so high-pitched that Ste can't help but wince and take notice. He's surprised that he can even hear her since he's _not _a dog.

"Fine, but you're helping me make it - I can't even remember half the ingredients. Deccy, fetch me the cocktail pitcher from upstairs, your Auntie Chez uses it for tacky plastic flowers in the bathroom," he says and everyone but Ste and Nate suddenly vanishes from the around the table. Brendan grips his shoulder with one warm hand when he passes and Ste turns to look up at him, plants a soft kiss to his knuckles and scrunches up his nose when Brendan pokes it with his finger.

"He's different from when I first met him," Nate says thoughtfully from across the table. "I mean, there was some seriously weird shit going down that day."

Ste chuffs a laugh. "Yeah, there usually is where Brendan's concerned."

"He's alright, though. Not - " He halts, looks at Ste hesitatingly.

"Not what? Come on, whatever you're gonna say I've probably heard worse."

"Not completely mental?"

"Oh, he is," Ste says brightly, "you didn't notice? His sister's completely mental as well."

Nate laughs and and holds his hands out in surrender. "Yeah, okay, fair enough. I should of known really - their Nan stole my horse."

"Sounds about right," he chuckles.

"And Cheryl woke me up at half-past three this morning in a tizz because she didn't think she'd have enough string to wrap the turkey. Y'know, _two_ _whole_ days before Christmas."

"Yeah, well, Brendan wakes me up at half-past three in the morning if he gets _bored _and I don't mean in a _good _way, I mean because he wants to ask stupid questions about penguins or bicycles or the universe so count yourself lucky."

"I dunno, I give it a few weeks and I can see it happening."

"You plannin' on stickin' around that long then?" Ste asks carefully.

"You vetting me?"

"I might be. Brendan's not the only person she's got lookin' out for her."

"Yeah, I think I'd like to. If she'll have me that is," Nate tells him thoughtfully, hopefully, and Ste sees it, how much he cares about her.

"D'you love her?" he blurts out like a fucking idiot, mouth operating without brain again, and instantly wishes he could take it back because Cheryl is going to have his balls when all that's left of Nate is a man-shaped cloud as he bolts out the door but luckily he's not offended; he just chokes out a laugh and shrugs.

"I suppose I do, yeah," he says and even he sounds surprised by the revelation. "Travelled halfway across the country to come see her when I should be out getting myself a proper job; that must be love, right?"

"I guess - " Ste admits and he's close, so close to letting it all fall together into place but he's still fighting with it. He knows what he feels, knows exactly what it is - there's nothing else it _can _be, nothing else can leave him _this_ amazed from the sheer magnitude of it, but he doesn't know how to bring it out into the open, how to take it and put it into those three words that he thinks constantly but doesn't know how to say. Nothing seems good enough or huge enough, it's never perfect enough. After everything they've been through, they deserve nothing less than perfect.

"You're tellin' me you're _not_ a bloke hopelessly in love?" Nate asks him sceptically.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Sorry to say but it's all over both your faces, mate," he says with an easy smile, looks over Ste's shoulder and he turns to see Cheryl and Brendan returning to the table with Declan saddled with a pitcher filled to the brim with _something_ and Christmas decorations, bits of plastic holly and toothpicks with tinsel on the end. "I'm guessing it ain't easy, though? Loving the Bradys?"

"Nope," Ste tells him honestly, "but trust me - it's worth every minute."

"I'll drink to that."

"What are we drinking to?" Cheryl asks loudly, plonks five glasses down on the table and starts to fill them.

"Christmas, obviously," Nate says brightly, gives Ste a wink to seal their little bonding moment and Cheryl cheers and falls into her chair. There's a minor kerfuffle next to Ste and he watches Brendan trying to wrestle a half full glass out of Declan's stubborn grip.

"This stuff is lethal, I don't want you puking your guts up all night."

"I'm not a kid, Dad," he argues while simultaneously trying to _bite _his father. They're so alike sometimes it's scary.

Brendan throws up his hands and sits down. "Steven," he says with a sigh, catching Ste's attention. "What d'you think? Shall we let him have it?"

His heart clenches violently on that _we _again and his breath catches in his throat. He looks into Brendan's warm gaze, sees so much trust there that he doesn't know what to do with, doesn't know how he'll live up to it but it means the world to him and he'll do whatever it takes to make it grow and flourish into something even greater, something solid and forever. They're having a moment right across _their _chattering family and Ste swallows thickly, turns his best 'dad smile' on Declan, long-suffering and indulgent. "Go on then, just the one. If you do end up chucking your guts up, though, make sure you do it quietly; we've got a busy day tomorrow."

Declan's pleased as any teenager who's just been given hard-liquor and Brendan watches him from the head of the table with a small but brilliant smile. Ste tips his glass towards him and thinks, it's perfect, right now it's perfect, and mouths the words 'I love you'.

* * *

_almost-eighteen days_

It's two am and all the kids except Declan are in bed. Him and Nate are playing a furious and frankly violent game of Subbuteo across the dining table and Ste would love to know where the fuck Cheryl dredged that up from, it looks about twenty years old and Ste doesn't want to touch it, not for one second. Her and Brendan are tidying up the kitchen and Ste watches all of it from where he's leaning against the frame in the open front door, cold air trailing over his flushed skin and mingling pleasantly with the warm wash of alcohol down his throat and through his bloodstream as he sips from his glass.

He feels content in a way that he often does these days. Something about having everything he wants suits him, unsurprisingly, and he allows himself these little moments of smug happiness because he fucking deserves them, thank you very much. He'd never thought he deserved much of anything at all but now he doesn't fight with it. If men like him and Brendan can change and make themselves better, if they can hurt people and earn forgiveness, if they can suffer and come out of the other side in one piece, then surely that's good enough? Surely that makes them worthy.

The village is lit up, fairy lights draped through the trees and across the bridge and wreaths hanging on the lampposts, ribbons fluttering in the chilly breeze. There's a covering of thick, silvery-white frost over everything and the moon bathes the balcony in enough pale light to make it twinkle. Having kids has made him appreciate Christmas in a way he didn't know how to when he was younger. If his scally little teenager self could hear him waxing all poetic about fairy lights right now it'd kick him in the balls and probably, completely unironically, call him gay.

"Hey," Brendan's soft voice says at his shoulder. "Come outside with me?"

Ste doesn't say anything, just steps out onto the path and leans his forearms against the railings while Brendan shuts the door behind them, muffling the sounds of music and the foul-mouthed abuse of tiny plastic footballers. He comes up behind Ste and leans against the length of his back, hands at either side of his own on the wrought iron.

"Gizza sip," Brendan says after a moment and Ste moves his glass over his shoulder, presses it to Brendan's mouth and tips carefully until he swallows. He pulls it back and it spills slightly, leaving a drop clinging to Brendan's bottom lip which Ste sucks off with a quick dart forward and a satisfied hum. "It's been an alright night, hasn't it?"

"Mmm, it's been mint," Ste agrees, tipping his head to rest his temple against Brendan's and putting his glass on the stone support beside him. "The kids 'ave really enjoyed it. I think Nate's your new biggest fan."

"Apart from you y'mean?"

"Nurr, obviously," he says dopily and snorts an undignified laugh.

"Well, I'll give you this one: the bloke's not bad, even if he doesn't have a proper job, is shagging my sister and is basically a hobo."

"I don't think he'd appreciate you puttin' it like that but awww, look at you," Ste croons, nuzzles his nose against Brendan's cheek, "trying to like the bloke that's nobbin' your sister."

"Oh, that's just - _nobbing_? _Really_?"

"You're well and truly reformed. They'll be callin' you Saint Brendan next - "

"Shut up, you," he growls and pulls his arms tightly around Ste's waist, digs his fingers into his sides until he squirms and laughs and tries to pry him off.

"Don't go getting preisty-fied, though, I enjoy shaggin' you too much."

"Priesty-fied? _Nobbing? _You're just makin' words up right now."

"Nah, look it up. Nobbing. It's the verb of 'nob', means 'to nob'," he says and collapses into giggles in Brendan's arms. He feels Brendan shake his head against the side of his neck and he _knows_ that he's laughing too, can feel it in the rise and fall of his chest against his back.

"Where did you come from?" he suddenly asks, voice warm and still filled with amusement.

"Manchester, where'd you think?"

"Noooo," Brendan tuts. "I mean, _where did you come from? _You just rock up into my club, blackmailing me for a job and now, here I am, having Christmas parties with both our kids and - "

"And what?" he prompts when Brendan doesn't go on.

"Turn around, I wanna - " He grips Ste's hands and twirls him out like they're dancing. Brendan's eyes are huge and wide and twinkling in the lights from the street and he looks fascinated and determined. Ste waits him out and bloody hell is it worth it. "I wanna look at you when I tell you that I love you."

He feels his face split into the widest smile because Brendan says it with complete and utter certainty, no hint of hesitation or doubt. He says it like it's something he cherishes, like it's something he _understands. _Like he's not afraid of loving Ste anymore.

"Well, you're in good hands then. I love you, too."

"Oooh, is _that _what you were tryin' to tell me inside?" Brendan asks with a barely contained smirk. "I thought you were saying 'I'd do you' and I was just like, well, yeah, tell me something I _don't _know."

"Very funny," Ste scoffs and shoves him but Brendan tightens his grip and pulls him close again, palms pressing warmly against his sides and bodies flush together.

"Thank you," Brendan says softly, voice barely more than a whisper.

"What for?"

"I dunno, coming to Dublin? Blackmailing me for a job? Making me - no - " he stutters and pauses, flounders for the words he wants to say, " - for giving me a _reason_ to be better."

"Brendan - " he breathes, completely overwhelmed as if _I love you _wasn't enough to already almost give him a heart attack. He feels filled with something bright and white-hot, like someone's pouring molten metal right into him and it's spreading to fill every gap until he's ready to burst. It's huge and all consuming and he finally gets it: it wasn't just Brendan that didn't understand what love _really _meant.

"I know it ain't always gonna be easy but I'm in this for good, okay?"

For good. Forever. The rest of their lives, him and Brendan. A _we. _A they, a them. He can't lose this, not ever - he thinks it might kill him. "Yeah, me too," he says seriously, completely open, everything on display right there for Brendan to see and take and do what he wants with. He gives himself over to it, unafraid and perfectly trusting. "Easy's way overrated anyway."

"Right?"

"Right. At this point we can get through pretty much anything, don't you think?"

Brendan hesitates, looks down and away from him. "I hope so."

Ste touches his face, presses his fingers under Brendan's chin and tries to make eye contact. "What's up?"

"Nothin'," he says and smiles. "Story for another day, definitely not one for Christmas."

"But I'm gonna get to hear it?"

"Yeah, I promise. On your life, I promise."

Ste thinks that's enough. There's things he doesn't know about Brendan, although every day the list gets smaller, and there's things that Brendan doesn't know about him. It's okay, though, because he's absolutely secure in the knowledge that they have a lifetime together to learn.


End file.
